


Unspoken

by knitbelove (ladymac111)



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7080850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymac111/pseuds/knitbelove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baz's first night back in Mummers Tower after his ordeal with the numpties goes a bit differently than either he or Simon expected.</p><p>Canon-divergence mini-AU that splits off at the end of chapter 31.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sneebly on Rav for your suggestion!

_-Simon-_

I go to bed after Baz leaves, but I don't go to sleep. He's only been back a day, and I already feel like I need to know where he is at every moment. It's fifth year all over again.

When he finally does come back to our room, smelling like dust and decay, I close my eyes.

 

_-Baz-_

 

By the time I'm done in the Catacombs it feels like I'm dragging my own corpse up the tower steps to our room.

Snow's not asleep when I come in. He's pretending, but it's not convincing. It never is. He’d never sleep with me in the room if he knew how he really is. (Vulnerable. Pathetic. Heartbreaking.)

I make for the bathroom. Normally I shower in the mornings, and Snow showers at night. But tonight there are cobwebs in my hair, and I was so thirsty that I got blood under my nails when I fed.

I take a quick, quiet shower, and when I climb into bed, I feel every bone in my body groan in relief. Crowley, I missed this bed. Even though it's dusty and lumpy, with goose quills that sneak through the ticking and poke me. It's more mine than that monstrosity at home ever was.

I roll stiffly over onto my side, facing Snow. I know he's only pretending to sleep, but I'll watch him anyway.

Let him notice. I hope he knows that it was thinking of _him_ that kept me alive in the numpties' den. Let him make what he will of that, but I hope he knows. Let him hate me for it. Maybe it'll make this easier. (Probably not.  Nothing about this has ever been easy.)

He's lying on his back, and when he turns his head and looks at me, I almost snap my eyes shut, to pretend I wasn't staring. Almost.

Let him know. ( _Please_ , let him know....)

He meets my gaze, boldly, bravely. Challenging me in the dark. For a long moment neither of us moves, barely even breathing. I'm not even sure if he can see me.

And then he sits up. His jaw is set, determined. When he looks like this I want to punch that handsome square chin, just sock him as hard as I can. I want to split his lip on my knuckles and lick his blood off them.  (I just want to _taste_ him…)

He shifts, sits on the edge of his bed, puts his elbows on his knees, leans towards me.

I sigh and push myself halfway up on my elbow, looking at him coolly. It hurts to be even partially upright, but I'm not going to lie down while he's giving me that look.

Snow looks down at his hands, then back up at me; frowns. I think he's going to say something. Maybe he's going to ask where I've been. (I haven't even prepared my lie.) He takes a breath like he's about to speak, but he doesn't open his mouth, just keeps sitting there in the darkness.

I purse my lips; I'm getting impatient with this. But it's like there's a spell over us, over the room, and I get the feeling it would take an enormous effort to break the silence. I don't think there _is_ a spell, not a real one, but I don't have it in me to break it anyway. (Snow sometimes does magic without any words -- but this doesn't seem like that. I don't feel his magic right now.)

He narrows his eyes. Which should be a warning, but I must be too tired to see it, and I'm caught completely off-guard when he lunges at me, both hands on my face. I topple backwards into my pillows with him on top of me and I'm so startled I don't even fight back. For a split second I wonder if the Anathema will do something.

And then his nose bumps into mine and he's _kissing me_ and I think I must be dead or delirious but he smells ... he smells like Snow, and he feels like Snow, and my bed is lumpy underneath my back in just the way it always is, and the moonlight slanting through the window is just right too so this must be our room, this must be Watford, this must be Snow and this must be _real_ and he's _bloody kissing me._

I think this is a kiss, anyway. It's much rougher than I imagined. I guess I should have imagined that, from Snow. Everything is a fight with him. (I have spent so many hours trying not to imagine kissing him, and I have done a terrible job of it.)

This is my first kiss and I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm every inch an awkward virgin.

He breaks off me with a gasp, and I don't know whether it's his or mine. My eyes struggle to focus on him, inches in front of my nose. Suddenly I'm afraid he'll move away, and I grab his sides, twist my fingers into his shirt.

It's a good thing I took the time to put on my pyjamas instead of going to bed in my underwear, because Snow is wearing his cross still, and it falls out of his shirt and hits my sternum before he sits up far enough that it’s not actually touching me. Even though there's fabric between, my skin smarts from it, almost burning, and I feel the itch in my cheeks and under my tongue that's just enough to stop me wanting to eat him and absolutely enough to make me want to _fuck_ him.

I don't want him to know how badly I want him to fuck me. (But also, I _do_ want him to know.)

He shifts, and my heart stutters, but all he's doing is pushing my duvet aside and then he's back and lying directly on top of me. My thighs are spread, and he's between them, and my damnable traitorous body is so full of blood that I'm already half-hard and I _know_ he feels it pressing into his hip. (My fucking left leg is still mostly numb, but I can feel the weight of him on it.)

I'm so turned on I can hardly breathe.

Please, _please_ , let him know how much I want this.

 

_-Simon-_

 

I have no idea why I'm doing this. It's colossally stupid, for a billion reasons, but at the moment I don't care at all.

I'm so full of _something,_ and I think this is the only way to get it out. It feels like this is the only thing I could possibly be doing right now. Like I need to kiss him to stay alive. If this _is_ a kiss. I mean, I know it is, my lips are on his and they're soft and dry and _warm_ \-- but it feels different than all the other kisses I've ever had. (And not just because he's Baz.  Or maybe _completely_ because he’s Baz.) It feels like I'm fighting him with my face, like this is a confrontation I'm trying to win.

He isn't fighting back, though. He's -- receptive. Gentle. Suddenly I doubt it's him, and I push myself up, away from him.  Only far enough that I can see his face. He grabs my waist, holding me to him, and the force of his grip makes my shirt ride up a little.

It's very dark in our room, but I can see him, well enough. He's really Baz, he's really _here_ , he's ...

He's on his back underneath me, giving me a sort of dazed and hungry look that makes my blood sing. The duvet between us needs to not be there; I shove it aside and then I can feel the warmth of him through our pyjamas, feel his cock throb and swell against my body.

My own body's response is instant, and a bit surprising -- I guess this is what it takes to get my libido going. I'm still looking down at Baz, and his eyes half close, his head tips back, he breathes a sigh that sounds like ecstasy. It shivers down my spine, an electric tingle of desire, of thirsty arousal, of undeniable lust. It's an unfamiliar sensation, this much ... _wanting_. I don't think I've ever felt it quite like this. It feels like magic. It feels _powerful_.

I lean down on my elbow, close enough that I can feel Baz's breath on my cheek. His fingers tighten in the fabric at my waist, and the wanting reaches a new height. I feel my own cock between our bodies now, growing harder with each heartbeat, and I'm hyper-aware of the touch of his hands on my sides, his thighs against mine, his belly underneath me, moving as he breathes.

I roll my hips, and his mouth falls open while his eyes fall shut. My own vision blurs at the surge of pleasure, but it's not enough. I reach with my free hand and try to pull his pyjama bottoms down, just a few inches, and when I lift my hips a bit he gives mine the same tug and then I feel his skin on my skin, the itch of his pubic hair, the steely hardness of his prick sliding alongside mine.  Touching him so intimately is a new level of sensation that takes my breath away.

I don't dare let myself think now, or I might stop, and I would hate myself forever if I stopped.

One of his hands is on the small of my back, and the other grips my neck, but he doesn't pull hard, and his arm is trembling. I stay above him, hovering my face over his, and I slide one hand up his side, pushing his shirt with it. His fingernails scratch my scalp, lightly at first, then a little harder, and I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.

My hips are moving faster now, and I don't think I could stop if I wanted to. We're both gasping, desperate, hurtling towards the precipice, closer and closer with each thrust, me into him, and him into me.

My climax catches me by surprise and all I can do is react. My forehead knocks against his in my confusion and he lets out an orgasmic moan, obscenely loud in the quiet tower. He's hanging onto me and I can't slow myself until I'm completely spent, tender and over-sensitive. He's panting, great deep breaths, almost wheezing.

I want to collapse onto him. I want to kiss him again. The urge is almost overwhelming.

I push myself up, off of him. The air is bracing, chilly, and as I tip back onto my own bed I can't help staring at him, still lying just where I left him, shirt pushed up and pants pushed down and the wet on his belly catching the little light in the room. And I'm looking at his cock, for the first time; I've never seen him naked before. It looks ... normal, lying on his belly spent and flaccid, his pubic hair dark around it. I didn't get his pyjama bottoms down very far so they hide anything else. (I can see his hipbones and his ribs easily; he's too skinny, _way_ too skinny. I wish I knew where he's been these last eight weeks.)

His head is thrown back into his pillow and his eyes are closed. His neck is long and elegant, and the expression on his face is so soft, so relaxed. I've never seen him so vulnerable and it makes my heart flutter.

I'm sticky, I realise suddenly, and the hem of my shirt has fallen into it. I take a tissue from the box on the table between our beds, and after a moment's hesitation I grab a second and kind of toss it at him. It lands next to his arm, and he gropes for it, then drops it on the mess we left and flops back down.

I tear my eyes away from him, try to focus on myself, on cleaning up a little.

And then the thinking comes back. I realise what I've just done, and I realise I _wanted it._ I wanted it _a lot._ And even more than that ... I'm pretty sure he wanted it as much as I did.

I just had sex, for the first time, and it was with Baz. And it was _amazing_.

 

_-Baz-_

 

This is the biggest fucking mistake I have ever made in my life and I don't regret it at all.

Snow is over on his bed again and the metre between us is an unconquerable chasm. He bridged it somehow when he gave me that tissue and I'm not going to read into that.  He could have just cast a spell to clean up, but it’s Snow, so of course he didn’t.  As for me, I couldn’t cast anything right now if my life depended on it.

I'm still trembling; I'm even weaker and more exhausted than I was before but everything is different now, everything is new and wonderful. I just lost my virginity to Simon bloody Snow and it was _his idea._ I could die happy right in this moment.

After a minute he stops fussing with the tissue and drops it on the floor, then straightens his clothing and gets into bed.

I sigh and lift myself just enough that I can see the mess on my belly, his semen and mine smushed together, indistinguishable in a sticky blob that's beginning to dry in my body hair and will be awful to clean up later. I mop up the parts that are still wet, then drop the tissue on the floor by Snow's and slide my pyjama bottoms back up on my hips. I have just enough left in me to pull the duvet back over myself.

I risk a glance at Snow -- he's lying on his side, facing away from me. I will myself not to feel it as a rejection. This was ... I don't even know.

It was sex. (Crowley, it was my _first time_.) (I don't know if it was his first time; probably not?) (Ugh, _fuck,_ I am _not_ going to think about Agatha sodding Wellbelove right now.)

I won't try to convince myself this was meaningless, because I know that's not true. But I don't know what it means. I don't know what this is going to look like tomorrow. It's probably just going to make everything worse between him and me, but at least I've had a few minutes of perfect bliss.

Even if everything else is ruined ... I had sex with Simon Snow.

My forehead is tender where he headbutted me. I close my eyes and stop resisting the pull of unconsciousness. After an excessively long day of fighting, it's a relief to be able to finally just ... stop.

 


End file.
